


Thirty-Eight Minutes Past Nine

by Capostrophe



Category: Bread (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Between Seasons/Series, Christianity, Crushes, F/M, First Meetings, Love at First Sight, Paranoia, Protestant-Catholic divide, first encounter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capostrophe/pseuds/Capostrophe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do an ambitious new vicar and an aspiring model chance to meet, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty-Eight Minutes Past Nine

**Author's Note:**

> Set between Series3/4. (Or 4/5 if you're going off the DVDs.)

Reverend Oswald Carter was no fool. He knew he had a job to do, had certain responsibilities to see to. It was an enormous commitment, taking over an entire parish, and he took on the task with a willing heart, eager to serve the Lord as best as he could, eager to make a positive difference in the lives of his flock, knowing he had to engage with all of himself.

And he also knew, with absolute certainty, that staring at the long-legged girl was wrong.

Every morning she tottered by the vicarage, on her way to somewhere or other, unable to walk normally on heels high enough to break her neck if she fell, jangling with dozens of plastic accessories, always wearing a skirt that barely concealed what it was meant to.

She was the sort of girl, Oswald knew, who drove men wild with her provocative outfits and her wiggly walk- she was probably involved in the type of business Oswald preached against, that he warned people to be wary of.

And yet there was something about her that drew him to her, that forced him to await her coming each morning, that forbade him from tearing his eyes away until she was well and truly out of sight. It wasn't her body. It wasn't her legs. Oswald knew that's what they'd all think, if he dared tell anyone of his fascination, but really, truly, it wasn't.

It was her face, more than anything, that drew him in. Huge, hazel eyes and a very simple smile- it formed a picture of sweetness and naïveté, a picture which very much contrasted with the rest of her and befuddled Oswald no end.

Who was this girl- this tempting, torturous and at the same time innocent soul? When he saw her, he wanted to know everything about her- what she did, why she was the way she was. And so he kept watching and wondering, every weekday at precisely thirty-eight minutes past nine, trying to work out the complete and utter puzzle that was the young woman going past.

His fascination had to be more than mere curiosity, or, Heaven forbid, some sort of primal desire. There had to be a reason for this- perhaps she was put in his way for a purpose, he thought one night, while perusing a list of volunteers for the church jumble sale. Perhaps it was some sort of divine intervention, her catching his eye.

Maybe, just maybe, he should actually do something about it- go and talk to her next time, say hello, ask her how she was.

Maybe she needed help, and he could give it to her in some way. Maybe she didn't, she could be perfectly fine for all he knew.

But either way, Oswald got the unshakeable feeling he was going to have to try and communicate with her.

* * *

Her mam would surely have a heart attack if she knew her only daughter passed the Proddy church on the way to her modelling jobs each day. Aveline didn't mean to defy her at all, but Mr. Andre's studio- her usual destination- was half an hour's walk if she went via the main road, and only twenty minutes if she took the shortcut, going round the back past St. Mary's and the vicarage. And walking like a model was hard work sometimes- cutting out the extra ten minutes saved her feet from completely killing her.

Aveline didn't take much notice when she saw removal men outside the vicarage one morning- whether or not a new vicar was moving in was no concern of hers, really- and so off she went on her merry way, not giving it even the teensiest of second thoughts. Her mind was focussed entirely on much more important things, such as how dead fantastic she'd look in the such as how dead fantastic she'd look in the adverts for the new body spray, or snap-together shelving units or whatever product her body happened to be advertising on the given day. In fact, for quite a long time, she didn't take any notice of the vicarage at all.

That is, of course, until one morning she clicked past to see a man standing in the garden.

Partially obscured by the gate and the stone wall which surrounded the property, he was busily engaged in clipping his hedge, working up just a bit of a sweat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbow.

Aveline's first thought- well, it wasn't really a thought at all- was to ignore the spectacle. But as she drew nearer, the man stopped what he was doing and turned, so he was looking directly at her. She jumped, her shoes juddering against a crack in the pavement. Why was this young man, this new vicar, staring at her? He was quite dishy, really, she thought, on closer inspection, light blue shirt setting off his eyes, sandy, wavy hair and moustache. There was an air of gentleness about him- well, she supposed there'd have to be, him being a member of the clergy and all- but still.

The man smile, raising one hand in greeting.

Aveline's hand instinctively flew to the whistle around her neck. All her life her Mam had warned her about men who looked at her twice- bad lots, just after your body, she'd been told, blow your whistle the instant you're in any sort of danger for a fella, she'd been told.

The man's smile seemed friendly, though, Aveline observed, in no way threatening, and besides, he was a vicar, and a man of God, even a Protestant one, couldn't really be intent on harming her, could he?

Deciding she wasn't in that much danger after all, Aveline let her hand fall away from her whistle and waved back.

* * *

Oswald spent every morning in the garden from then on, hiding behind the excuse of tending to his hedges. And every morning now, when the long-legged, innocent-faced girl went by he'd wave, and she'd wave back.

Excellent progress, Oswald thought. Very good progress indeed.

He no longer felt guilty about waiting for her, watching for her, because it wasn't just staring, not anymore. They'd progressed from total strangers to very, very distant acquaintances. They interacted. And Oswald was quite happy with that. No longer distracted- well, not as much, anyway, he still often wondered a great many things about what the girl was like and who she was- but no longer burdened with the worry of how wrong it might be to be seen watching her, he was able to put more effort back into his parish duties. His routine was constant and comfortable, and Oswald was content to keep it all the way it was.

Until, that is, one morning, something possessed him to go just a little bit further.

The click-clack of high heels sounded on the pavement at thirty-eight minutes past nine, and Oswald shifted his garden shears to one hand, preparing himself to wave.

And his mouth, without warning, called out a hello.

The girl nearly fell out of her shoes.

* * *

Aveline had found herself thinking about the young vicar rather a lot lately. She couldn't really explain why, after all, what was he other than a man she barely knew, other than to gesture to in passing? But he did look like such a nice man, she'd catch herself thinking- unlike all the tough fellas she normally encountered on a day-to-day basis, all denim jackets and mullets, whistling and going 'phwoar' when she bumped into them. This man, this vicar, seemed decent- she couldn't picture him sloping around in a gang, making derogatory noises.

Not only that, he was easy on the eyes. She'd unintentionally slip into daydreams about him, imagining his smile over and over, thinking up names for him, trying to work out what his voice might sound like. Oh, her Mam would go _mad_ if she knew- not only was Aveline even _more_ keen to pass the Proddy church every day, but she was beginning to incubate the tiniest of baby crushes on the new vicar.

Aveline felt a little bubble of guilt every time she waved, and began to wonder if she should be going to confession about this. But even so, she still looked forward to their meetings, spent more time than usual worrying about her face and her hair and her clothes. Just, you know, in case. Not for any particular reason.

When the vicar finally did speak to her, it took her completely by surprise. Aveline jumped back, almost completely losing her balance- she'd been dreaming about him talking for days now, girlish fantasies she more than half-expected to never come true, and now they had, it took her a moment to work out what to do.

Again, her hand almost went for her whistle, and again she forced it back down.

It was just a greeting, and one she'd wanted to hear. No need to be having hysterics.

What took her off guard, apart from the initial shock, was just how posh he sounded. True, Aveline hadn't expected him to have a Scouse accent, but the vicar's voice was educated and smooth beyond her wildest dreams, and it made her feel just a tiny bit inferior, suddenly aware that, next to his, her own voice sounded dead common.

She paused for a moment, considering everything, panicking that if she spoke back to him, he may be put off.

There was no point in not trying, though, Aveline told herself- if she never said anything they might never progress beyond the waving stage. And so, with a deep breath, she pulled out her loveliest smile, the one she always used when she was modelling some fantastic skincare product and had to look joyful at the effect it was having.

'Hello,' she said, and quickly went on her way.

* * *

It was an ordinary Sunday morning, bright and sunny outside, and Oswald positively glowed as he stood at the pulpit, the words of his sermon flowing from his tongue. He'd been hit with an enormous bout of inspiration last night, and he'd written and written and written. This happened every so often- his passion for his job shone through, and he was able to deliver a stirring speech, feeling the Spirit inside of him, and he'd know for certain that this was the work he'd been called to do.

Oswald finished, taking a deep breath, and looked out on the faces of the congregation. Some of them were looking skyward, some had their heads bowed solemnly, one or two were twiddling their thumbs or fidgeting in some way.

But it was the sight of one face among the group that made Oswald start. The girl- the very same girl who walked past his house- was sitting in the back row, her eyes glistening with admiration.

Oswald felt his heart do a strange flip.

* * *

'Excellent sermon today, vicar,' the old woman said, clasping his hand. Oswald smiled, thanked her profusely and turned to the next parishioner.

'See you next week, vicar!' the man tipped his hat, and Oswald smiled again, nodding as he stepped through the doorway and out into the church grounds. Many of the older vicars, he noticed, didn't do this much anymore- wait behind after the service to greet anyone- but Oswald believed in connecting with his flock, really getting to know them, so he could reach each of them individually in what he did.

Today, however, his mind wasn't fully on the task. He found his eyes wandering, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl.

She'd been right near the door- she should have been one of the first to come out. Had she already gone? He couldn't help thinking he'd be sorely disappointed if she had- he was looking forward to having a chat. All he'd heard of her voice so far was the word 'hello'- a bit higher-pitched and slightly more coarse than he'd been expecting, but still lovely nonetheless.

Churchgoer after churchgoer poured out from the building, and Oswald conversed with each one in turn. He'd almost given up on the girl completely, had almost resigned himself to going back to waiting pointlessly for the odd wave when, melting into the light from the dark interior of the church, there she was, standing in the doorway in a garish lime-green dress, looking completely out-of-place.

Oswald felt his face stretch into a natural smile, and he held out his hand warmly. 'Hello, there!'

'Hello,' replied the girl, her voice even more raucous when he could hear it better, but still somehow endearing, taking his hand and shaking it. Her nails were incredibly long and sharp; they scratched his palm, but Oswald couldn't say he minded.

'I've seen you around, haven't I? he knew this was probably a silly way to start a conversation, given they both knew precisely when and where they saw each other, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. 'You're the one who walks past my house, aren't you?'

'That's right,' said the girl, blushing slightly, though that might just have been the makeup she had on, 'I go that way to work.'

Oswald was glad of this opening- he'd been madly curious as to what this girl did, and she'd given him the perfect opportunity to ask. But how to phrase it? Oswald didn't wantto sound overly forward, overly nosey- heavens, no-but people asked acquaintances questions like that, didn't they? He could get away with 'friendly and conversational', couldn't he?

'What is it that you do?'

She grinned. 'I'm a model- I do modellin'.'

Something lifted from Oswald's shoulders. Everything made so much more sense now. There was no ill-repute to worry about, the fluoro tights and short skirts were apparently there as no more than a fashion statement, not to advertise her body. Well, not to advertise it in _that_ way, anyway. Still, he wasn't quite sure what he thought about that. Vicars didn't usually associate with models. Oh, it wasn't a rule, or anything, it wasn't as though it was forbidden it was just that, in general, they were two sorts of people who didn't tend to mix, who walked on completely separate parallel lines.

Perhaps it was time to fix that, Oswald thought. After all, who said the status quo couldn't change?

'That sounds like a…fascinating profession,' he said, trying to choose the right words so as not to offend her or appear too forward, both of which would make both his reputation and this strange relationship suffer, but merely seem conversational, show he was interested.

'Oh, yeah. And it's not just any old job- you've got to give a dead fantastic impression!' She suddenly sounded fiery and passionate, as though speaking of something she had long had to defend to others.

The tone of her voice made Oswald laugh warmly. There was just a hint of feistiness bubbling away below the surface of this girl- another layer for him to try and analyse and be utterly confused about, but at the same time which endeared him to her all the more.

'Oh, I'm sure you do _that_.'

The girl's eyes lit up at his appraisal, and the sight of them made Oswald feel quite faint. She looked even lovelier close-to, he decided, had more of an effect- he could see all the twinkles and sparkles and fires that ignited her eyes, little details he'd missed before.

'Anyway, I'd better go,' the smile and enthusiasm had disappeared all of a sudden, replaced with a look of anxiety he didn't know the cause of, 'me Mam thinks I'm goin' modellin'.'

She turned hastily, and something- Oswald couldn't describe that something, didn't even know if it had a name- something completely unexpected, completely unprecedented made Oswald jump.

'Wait!' his own outburst startled him, and he laughed uneasily. 'I don't know your name!'

'Oh.' She had, he noticed with some degree of surprise, been clutching quite ferociously at something around her neck, which Oswald realised, as she released it, was a whistle of some kind. What a perplexing woman she was. He longed to ask why she had it, what purpose it served, and he wondered if he would ever know the meaning behind this strange, long-legged, mesmerising girl.

She smiled at him as she answered his question. 'Aveline,' she said, in that thick but endearing accent, 'Aveline Boswell.'

 _Aveline_. A rather unusual but lovely name- he supposed that fitted her perfectly.

'Reverend Oswald Carter,' he returned, and some silly part of him forced him to add 'at your service.'

She giggled, and Oswald severely hoped none of his other parishioners could hear this exchange. Whatever would they say?

'Perhaps,' he went on, 'I'll see you around sometime.'

'I hope so,' said Aveline, a strange ring to her voice Oswald wasn't sure how to interpret. Her lipsticked smile stretched, and she gave a little bob, a little wave of her long-nailed hand before trotting off down the path, her hips wiggling and her heels sending pebbles skittering.

'Ta-ra, Oswald!'

Oswald waved back, a lovely, sunny feeling that had nothing to do with the weather overwhelming him, and wondered just what was coming over him.

* * *

From then on, when Aveline passed his house, she'd pause, and call out a 'hello, Oswald!' before clacking away.

And from then on, when Oswald heard her call, he'd call a _hello Aveline_ back, letting her lovely name roll off his tongue and resonate through his mouth.

And, as then on became then on became now, waves and hellos became short chats, which in turn became longer chats, and it soon became possible for them to talk for quite long periods of time, Aveline suddenly realising she'd be late and dashing off at a neck-breaking pace in those killer shoes of hers. Oswald would watch her go and shake his head, alternating between worrying about her falling down and being totally entranced by her silly little walk.

There was something about Aveline- her bubbly nature mixed with her innocence and all-round appeal- that always made him feel warm, bright, happy- a lovely antidote to all the worries that accompanied his responsibilities- he didn't begrudge a single one of them, but there were so many cares, so many things to be concerned about with each task that he felt positively weighted down. Aveline Boswell seemed to lift him from that, to give him something to look forward to.

Oswald watched her go, feeling the familiar strangeness well up inside him, and wondered if, perhaps, it was time to take another step into the strange whirlpool that was their acquaintance.

* * *

Aveline strutted down the street, her head high and her handbag flapping against her side, the promise of a glossy magazine (they promised those a lot, and she was yet to appear in one, but no matter, the promise was enough to sustain our Aveline) and a spot on the catwalk secured for tomorrow putting a smile on her made-up face. She'd looked dead fantastic in her pink lycra tights, she'd received several compliments from her neighbours this morning as she'd left for work, and she'd had a nice long conversation with Oswald this morning. She had to admit, her miniscule crush on the vicar had grown and blossomed during these past few weeks into something quite embarrassing. Her idle little daydreams about him had become quite uncontrollable things, and she'd find herself losing her focus during those long, tedious modelling sessions, where she'd hold the same pose for half an hour while the photographer clicked away. He would, inevitably, notice she wasn't concentrating, wasn't even looking at him and they'd have to start the session again, but Aveline didn't mind. It was a small sacrifice when you were in love… _in love._ She did not just think the words _in love_. She didn't _know_ him well enough to think that- and what would her Mam say?

Speaking of Mam, she'd only just recently discovered a brand new way of ensuring her daughter remained chaste and pure- the whistle had been upgraded to a simply _hideous_ alarm, which she daren't set off, even if she knew how- she had the feeling a disaster would result. Aveline toyed with it between her fingers as she walked, trying to work out where the switch was so she could avoid it, her mind on her dinner and her successful day when a battered car cruised up to the side of the road.

'Phwoar!' came a voice from inside, and the window wound away to reveal a reasonably good-looking but rather oily young man leering out at her. 'What's _your_ name, sweetheart?'

Aveline was torn between answering, chucking some insult at him like _isn't it time you went home to your Mam_ and calling for help. She was always so wary of men- they could be completely innocent, just being friendly, but then again, they might be after her body, as her family was constantly reminding her. She wasn't so sure she could tell the difference anymore.

'Smashing legs, gorgeous!' continued the man, and Aveline hastily tried to pull her tiny miniskirt further down- an impossible feat- as she frantically worked out what to do. She wanted her whistle- it was her instinctive reaction to grab and blow it, hear its relieving shrill sound whenever a bloke came too close. There was only one man she wouldn't consider doing that for- apart from her brothers, of course- and that was Oswald… _not now_ , she thought determinedly. This was no time to be thinking of Oswald. She barely knew the man, and she was faced with a completely different situation here. This bloke, who was still trying to chat her up, or rather, send lewd comments her way, was a far cry from the gentle, kind, friendly vicar, around whom she always felt so content, so sure she'd never come to any harm…

Flustered by her own train of thought, and unaware fully what she was doing, Aveline pulled the tab on her alarm.

The effect was _chaotic_. A man, zooming down the street on his bicycle, went slamming into the curb and went right over the handlebars. A dog yelped, jumped and turned on its owner, snapping at him with its jaws. Seemingly everyone within a five-mile radius turned to stare.

Aveline felt her cheeks colouring an even brighter shade of red than her blusher, and she bit her lip, getting lipstick on her teeth as she frantically tried to turn the hideous noise off.

'Forget it, love,' said the driver of the car with a mix of disbelief and annoyance on his face, and he zoomed off with a roar of his engine.

Aveline pulled her sunglasses down from the top of her head and over her eyes, willing all the gawking masses to go away. This new alarm was just humiliating- she was going back to her whistle if she had anything to say about it, and the horrible noisy thing was going to the furthermost corner of her bottom drawer, where she hid everything she despised- all the bad photos of her in magazines, the gifts from past boyfriends her brothers had scared off, all the rest.

She held it in her palm and smashed it with her fist, desperate to get it to stop, but the noise wailed on and on.

'What on earth have you done?'

Aveline jumped and turned, the face attached to the wonderful, smooth voice bringing a smile to her face.

Oswald was standing behind her, looking thoroughly amused.

* * *

For a short, paralysing moment all Oswald had seen was Aveline and the car, all he'd heard was the terrifying shrill wail of that ghastly alert and all he'd felt was fear. His heart had leapt in his mouth at the notion that perhaps something was amiss. But just as quickly, the fear had fallen away and he'd realised, a laugh springing up through his throat, the true nature of the situation. He'd developed a theory about that whistle she wore- one which now, given the circumstances, was probably true. Aveline had jumped so many times when talking to him over the short time they'd been communicating, made a grab at it, clearly beginning to feel threatened, and then thought better of it. And now her whistle, her little safety net, her little hope of staying out of trouble, had been replaced by something worse, and she was causing widespread devastation with her overcautiousness. Oh, she was a funny little thing, so refreshing in her sweetly unique way of looking at things.

Oswald let himself laugh for a minute or two, then bit his lip and tried to recapture a straight face before heading over to her.

The alert was still screaming away, and Oswald decided to kill two birds with one stone- succumb to the temptation talk to Aveline and put a stop to that horrible noise both- and shuffled over to where she stood on the roadside, frantically slapping at the alarm and getting nowhere with her efforts.

Her reaction to him was just as amusing- she leapt a clear foot off the ground, realised who'd addressed her and immediately, that smile he'd grown fond of stretched across her face.

'Oswald!'

'What on earth have you done?' he chuckled, reaching out a hand for the whistle. 'Let's see if we can't stop that racket.'

She handed him the alarm gratefully, and Oswald, wincing at the sound being brought closer to his ears, turned the hideous thing over and removed the battery.

For a little while it was hard to tell if the noise had actually ceased- his eardrums were still ringing like mad, but judging by Aveline's relieved sigh, he'd clearly been successful. He passed the now-dead alert back to her.

'Aw, hey. Thanks, Oswald!' she gushed, looking triumphantly at it. Oswald couldn't resist any longer.

'I just don't understand why you feel you need that-that _thing_.'

Aveline's stare turned glum, and held it up between her fingers, as though contemplating tossing it into the road. 'It's me Mam's idea, this. Me Mam's and me brothers'- they're…they're a bit…'

'Overprotective?' Oswald supplied.

Aveline appeared to be debating whether or not to be offended by his choice of words, but then decided against it and sighed. 'Well. Yeah. If I'm five minutes late home they all leap into their cars! They're that sort, you know. They keep tellin' me how _dangerous_ the world is, and how I have to be careful if I don't wanna end up…'

Oswald couldn't help it then, he guffawed loudly, cutting into her rant. Aveline gave him an adorably cross stare.

'I'm sorry,' he said, wiping a tear from his eye, 'it's just…oh, just all the destruction you caused with that silly alert!'

She looked like she was about to give him a piece of her mind, but as she stared at him, the hilarity of the situation hit Aveline, her mouth trembled and then she was laughing too, covering her mouth with one hand, long red fingernails practically going up her nose.

'Did you see the dog?' she snickered. 'It bit its owner!'

'It most certainly did,' Oswald said, knowing this wasn't the most intelligent thing to say but feeling that saying it between chortles meant he could get away with it. He took a few deep breaths, letting his laughter subside and slowly regaining his usual composure.

Aveline twiddled the alert between her fingers, aiming it at the road and then relenting at the last minute and dropping it into her handbag instead.

Oswald looked at her and he wondered. He was on the verge of saying something he couldn't take back, something he might regret, but sincerely hoped he wouldn't. He bit his lip, trying to force down the urge to speak, but it was becoming uncontrollable.

He contemplated it. What his mind was suggesting was rather odd- after all, he was a vicar, and she was a model- whoever heard of such a combination? Was there any chance of it having a future? And whatever would his parishioners say?

Well, there was a first time for everything, wasn't there, though? Just because he'd never heard of a vicar and a model before didn't mean it wasn't possible. And as to what his parishioners thought, well, that didn't matter, did it, really? She was a lovely, harmless girl, and perhaps she did dress a little strangely, perhaps she did have never-ending legs, never-ending heels and never-ending nails, but even so, the sweetness and innocence that radiated from her couldn't be denied, and if the people around him couldn't see it that was their problem, not his. Having made up his mind, he cleared his throat.

'I don't suppose… I don't suppose…' he wrung his hands together, hoping Aveline wouldn't notice the beads of sweat that seemed to be collecting on his forehead, 'I don't suppose you'd like…' Oswald focussed on her face, on the little hopeful twinkle in her eyes and worked up the courage to finish his sentence.

'I don't suppose…you'd like…to…perhaps…meet up for a meal sometime?'

He tried not to make the exhale of relief after finishing the sentence too obvious. He fixed his eyes on Aveline's face, and saw, to his great delight, that she was blushing, and trying just as hard to contain her excitement as he'd been to contain his nerves.

'Well,' Aveline said, clearly trying to seem tremendously posh, but unable to pull it off due to the amount of teeth she was flashing, 'I might do. It depends.'

Oswald forced down a smile. 'On what?'

'On whether or not I have time.'

Oswald couldn't help it now- he snorted. 'Well of course it does, you silly girl.'

Aveline giggled, and Oswald felt the sun come out and shine on his head.

'When?' Aveline's eyes abruptly went wide. ' 'Cause I'm goin' modellin' every day this week, and it doesn't finish 'til three!'

'Don't worry, Aveline- I shan't come between you and your modelling,' Oswald said, feeling like another laugh was coming. 'Just name the time and place.'

'How about…after three?' Aveline suggested, as though this idea hadn't been obvious all along. 'We could go to the Qué Pasa- it's lovely, and close enough to home that I can get back without me Mam kno- er…it's lovely,' she finished weakly, smiling sweetly.

Oswald smiled back. 'The Qué Pasa it is, then.'

And at that moment both of them felt something had begun.

Just _what,_ they weren't quite sure.


End file.
